Smooth Criminal

Have you ever had a song that wouldn’t get out of your head? That’s what has happened to me the last couple of days.

I have had the song, “Smooth Criminal” by Michael Jackson stuck in my head. I thought why in the world do I have this song infiltrated in my brain. It occurred to me to make it a prompt for a story before I went to sleep the other night, but then I forgot about it when I woke up.

I was perusing the Facebook newsfeed and guess what song I saw on a video. You guessed it. So, I got the computer out last night and started typing this up.

I read somewhere that Michael was inspired by the fact that medical personal were taught to say in CPR classes, “Annie, are you okay?” Even though paramedics are supposed to call the person by name sometimes out of habit they would call the patient Annie. Below is my story inspired by the song “Smooth Criminal”

****

Annie glared at her stalker through the long pane window. He was shouting at her, but she just saw his arms flailing up and down as he screamed. She could see the crow bar in his hand. Tap.Tap.Tap.

“Oh Lawd. He’s going to break the window.” Annie said as she bolted to the dining room.

The sound of  the shattering glass filled her ears.

“Annie.” He hollered.

Tears were pelting down her face. There was nowhere to hide. She slid under the dining room tablecloth. Praying he didn’t look for her there.

“Annie, you got nowhere to run. It’s just you and me. You shouldn’t have changed the locks Annie. Did you really think that I would leave you alone? That a restraining order would stop me. You are mine and the law ain’t going to tell me any different.”

Her hands were trembling as she covered her mouth to muffle her cries. She could hear the glass crunching beneath his boots.

He paid no attention to the shards of glass imbedded in his skin. He patiently made his way to the dining room. He could hear her breathing and the muffled cries.

“Annie, Come out, Come out wherever you are. “

He turned into the dining room. Whimpers came from under the table.

“Annie you shouldn’t have ran from me.” She could see his boots as he circled around the table.

“I thought you loved me. You promised to love me and cherish me. I pay your bills. I buy your food, and this is how you repay me. Annie, Annie, Annie. Didn’t your momma teach you better?”

He stopped circling the table. Annie clutched her arms around her legs and laid her head on her knees. She was shaking uncontrollably now.

“Please, don’t hurt me, Dexter. I won’t run again. I won’t lock you out. I’m promise,” she said crawling out from under the table.

“Why should I believe that? No, I think we are long past that. See, I think if I can’t have you. I’m not going to let anyone have you.”

Dexter grabbed Annie’s black hair and rubbed his hands across her face. He pulled her up to his chest while her hair remained in his hand.

“I’ve never killed somebody before. You’ll be my first. You’ve been a first for me in many ways Annie. “

****

The policeman walked through the broken remains of the window.

“Annie. Annie are you okay? The officer didn’t miss the bloody footsteps that ensued out of the dining room. When he reached the dining room, he discovered Annie laid on the floor with a gunshot wound to her chest.”

“Annie are you okay?”

Annie didn’t respond.

****

He watched from the woods as they covered Annie on the gurney. Dexter didn’t see the young man watching him as he fled through the woods, but the young man would never forget him.

The weeks that followed Annie’s death Dexter told the tale to anyone that would listen. The police didn’t come looking for him . He had paid them off. His brothers didn’t snitch on him either. They knew what would happen if they did.

“Hey Smooth Criminal.” That’s how they greeted him.

Dexter would stop and see Annie’s boy at his grandmother’s from time to time. He always made it a point to inform the boy that if there was anything he ever needed not to hesitate to contact him.

Annie Miller’s case like so many others went untouched and Dexter grew bolder in his crimes.

****

Fifteen years later a new police chief took over the Anaheim Police Department. He instructed them to open up the cold case of Annie Miller.   He was so sure of who the murderer was that he called him the Smooth Criminal. He had been planning for this moment since he was sixteen years old.

He was there when the judge read Dexter Clement the verdict. He walked up to his mother’s convicted killer and looked him in the eye.

“I made a promise to myself that I would apprehend you if it was the last thing I do. It looks like I made good on my promise Smooth Criminal. My mother can finally rest in peace.”

I’ve Been Watching You

Flash Fiction for Inspiring Writers has a flash fiction picture prompt every week.  Below is the picture for this week(I’ve caught the tail end of it-I’m such a newbie 🙂 ).  I thought it would be fun to participate and to share it with any of you that are interested.  As always I love comments, so feel free to leave me one.  I will comment back. If you want to participate their site is here.

flash fiction April
Dawn M Miller

The white van has already made four trips to Mr.Palmers house. Each time girls, no older than thirteen, are dropped off and shuffled inside the house.

This isn’t the first time the van has appeared. Ever since Mr. Palmer moved in, there’s been a lot of traffic.

I inch closer trying to get a better look, and hit the wind chimes.

Mr. Palmer looks in my direction. He makes a phone call. Someone hits me from behind.

****

I hear moaning. I realize that I’m the one moaning. I touch my head. It’s bleeding. Where am I? Has my mother figured out I’m missing yet? Has she called the police?

The door opens and Mr. Palmer strolls in.

“I’ve been watching you for a while. You’ll make me lots of money.”

He closes the door and I start to cry.

*141 words

Late Night Intruder

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*This is what I wrote thinking about Sister Bertha Mae Floddlebuster from day 9 character’s study. I would love to hear what you think.

Sister Bertha Mae Floddlebuster heard something bumping on her oak wood floors downstairs. She wondered, why her Techno 100 alarm system wasn’t triggered.

She swiped the pistol off the nightstand. Slipping on her robe she tiptoed through her bedroom entrance way. It was times like these that she wished she was thirty instead of seventy-two.

Lots of noise was coming from the kitchen. Bertha could hear the pots and pans clanging. She didn’t tiptoe any longer; whoever or whatever it was couldn’t hear her over all that noise.

She descended the stairs and bypassed the dining room. When she arrived at the kitchen, she saw the man. He was packing a pistol.

Bertha cleared her throat as she approached him.

The plump man turned around with a skillet in his right hand and a boiler in his left.

“What are you doing Junior Renfroe?”

“Well since you told me to make myself at home, Aunt Bertha. I decided I would come over and cook some supper.”

“At midnight?”

“You know my apartment doesn’t have a kitchen. I didn’t get off until eleven-thirty and I am so tired of fast food. Besides I know you’re up at all times of the night.”

“I used to be. I’m retired from that life.”

“You’re telling me that you’re going to plant roses and crochet all day long.”

“For Heaven’s sake, no.”

“That’s what I thought.  By the way, Sheriff Grady’s been inquiring about you.” Junior went, and sat beside Bertha at the breakfast nook.

“I hope you told him lots of mundane things about me.” Bertha said as she got up and walked to the cabinet with the coffee cups. She then walked over and grabbed the instant coffee.

“One things for sure, he’s persistent. He knows you transferred the money to an account in Tahiti.”

“I knew I should have transferred the money in Raleigh. Who else knows?”  The microwave beeped. She grabbed the coffee cups with the warm water  and put a teaspoon of coffee in each one then turned to look at Junior.

“Another deputy besides me. Oh and there’s one other thing. He’s got a FBI agent, a buddy of his, checking out your friend. He caught Henry sneaking around your house when you weren’t here.”

“Is that right. I wonder what Henry Calliente is up to. I may have to do a little background check myself.” Bertha got up from the kitchen table. She walked to the refrigerator and started grabbing eggs, bacon, English muffins, and milk.

“I thought you were retired.”

“What do you think about me coming out of retirement, Junior? Why don’t you stay while I cook breakfast? We’ve got some planning to do.”

If you want to read more about Bertha click here

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